


Alive

by KaelsMiscellany



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU - Beauty and the Beast, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-28
Updated: 2012-10-28
Packaged: 2017-11-17 05:03:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/547900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaelsMiscellany/pseuds/KaelsMiscellany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And because she's angry and frustrated and lost she indulges the urge to throw her head back and scream.</p><p>She might feel better, but nothing's changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alive

**Author's Note:**

> For day four of Pydia week, I can't believe it's almost over.
> 
> Title from 'Alive (nightmare)' by Kid Cudi.

"Lydia!" She ignores Jackson's call as she storms deeper into the woods. She's had it up to fucking there with him, and she's not going to hang around to hear what lame excuse he'll give her this time.

Anger keeps her going long after she should have turned back, it's starting to get chilly out and she buffs her arms with her hands to get a little warmer. She frowns when she realizes how much darker it's gotten in such a short amount of time. A few minutes later a deluge of rain comes answering that question. And because she's angry and frustrated and lost she indulges the urge to throw her head back and scream.

She might feel better, but nothing's changed. Hunching her shoulders up she walks in what she thinks is the way she came. Lydia squints when she thinks she sees a light in the distance, and considering she doesn't have much of a choice, heads towards it; it's February, cold, and wet. She hopes to God they have a phone, Jackson had insisted they leave theirs in his car, 'more romantic' her ass, because right now even calling _Stiles_ to come pick her up sounds wonderful.

Intense relief surges through her when she sees the light is coming from a house. Heedless of how dangerous it is she rushes to the door and knocks. Then frowns when the door swings open with nobody on the other side. “Hello?”

No answer, a trickle of fear crawls down her spine as she steps into the foyer and closes the door behind her. She refuses to believe her life has suddenly turned into a horror movie as she slips off her shoes and pads around the staircase and deeper into the house. Warmth begins to seep into her bones again as she enters what looks like the living room.

She frowns at the large copper tub filled with water next to the lit fireplace. Cautiously she approaches and dipping her fingers in she's surprised to find it deliciously warm. Glancing around she spots towels, a change of clothes, and a scrunchie at the foot of the tub, she also notices there's no one else around. With a final nervous glance around she quickly strips off her clothes and climbs into the tub, hypothermia is not on her list of ways she wants to die. Piling her hair on top of her head she reaches down for the scrunchie to secure it all. That done she lies back and relaxes.

Lydia stays in the tub until the water reaches lukewarm and she starts to prune. And even though she's certain no one's _still_ not there she grabs a towel before climbing out to hide herself from view. Using the same towel she gives herself a swift pat down, and then quickly changes into the clothes given to her by no one. She yanks the scrunchie out and wraps her hair in the towel to dry.

This time when she re-enters the hall, curiosity pulls her up the stairs. All the doors on this floor are open and every room is a bedroom, each looking more inviting than the last. Finally she caves and nearly crawls into a room done in shades of blue. _I've always liked blue_ , she thinks as she collapses into bed, _blue looks good on me_.

-

When she wakes up in the morning the curtains are thrown wide open and as she sits up she sees her clothes from yesterday sitting on the chest of drawers by the door.

Lydia crawls out of bed, stretches, and pads over to her clothes. For a brief moment she looks in the mirror and feels like someone completely different is staring back. She shrugs it off as a side effect of all the stress of yesterday and quickly dresses; relishing the comfort of being in her own clothes.

She goes downstairs and out of habit heads to the kitchen. She pulls up short when she sees still steaming food on the table, clearly meant for her to eat. It does nothing but start up warning bells in her head. Avoiding all of the cooked and processed food she grabs an apple and feels around for needle marks. None found she takes it to the sink and washes it with hot water for two minutes.

Sure she'll probably be starving by the time she gets home, but that beats dead or drugged. The apple is nice and crisp when she bites down and heads to the front door. And pinned to the door is a map, with pirate-like directions: _Take 352 steps from the front door_. . .

Unlike the food she decides to trust the map, or at least most of it, and tucks it into her pocket. She stands in front of the closed door as she finishes her apple. When she finally finishes she goes back into the kitchen to toss the core into the sink. Back at the front door she slips her heels back on and heads out.

Now that she's outside in the daytime she knows exactly where she is, as she stares up at the house she frowns, this place should be a burnt death-trap not a house that looks like it came right off the pages of _Better Homes & Garden_.

And speaking of gardens, the one here is breath-taking. Even though it's still technically winter more than a few of the plants are in full bloom, including one gorgeous wine colored hydrangea. Half-unwilling she walks over and buries her face in a million little flowers. She inhales and smiles at the barely-there scent surrounding her.

Pulling herself away, completely unwilling, she gives a small despondent sigh. She knows she should get going, even with directions getting out of the preserve will take a while, but there's just something about this bush. Never in her life has she seen a color like this on any other hydrangea, and the urge to take a pom-pom with her is growing like ivy in her heart.

She runs her hand over satiny petals, and it doesn't take long before that same hand is at the end of the stem and gently wiggling it back and forth. As if waiting for that final conformation to pluck.

The snap, when she does decide, is sharp and surprisingly loud in the silence around her.

Clutching the pom-pom close she begins to make her way out of the garden. Only to freeze when a large, hulking shape blocks her way.

She knew about the Legend of the Hales, everyone did. But she assumed that the bit about the monster was just an urban legend, a way to attract tourists to their little rich town. She had been pretty sure that the three remaining Hales had run away, she would too if someone had set fire to her house and killed the rest of her family.

But now the monster's standing right in front of her, and it's getting harder to deny her own two eyes. It's huge, half-covered with brown-nearly-black fur matted with things she'd rather not think about, the other half is dark flesh, boiled, mangled, and scared. With eyes the color of freshly split blood, and fangs to put a saber-tooth to shame. Those eyes fall on the hydrangea pom-pom in her hand.

“You dare!” It _roars_. And even her bones cower. It steps forward and she falls backwards, trying to get away. “Stupid girl.”

Before it can come any closer three wolves appear between them, snapping and snarling. She scrambles back further as they launch themselves at the monster. Eyes wide, she watches as they rip at tear at the monster, until it collapses onto the ground bloody and broken. As one, the wolves turn to her. She tries to stand so she can run, but her legs arn't working; she squeezes her eyes closed and hopes they kill her quick.

Something cold and wet presses against her cheek and her eyes fly open. Only to meet warm amber colored eyes. There are only two wolves staring at her now, the other having apparently vanished somewhere, these two are both dark, rich browns, but the one on her left with the blue-green eyes is darker than the one nosing at her.

Sitting as still as she can she waits for the two wolves to loose interest in her. Her whole body falls limp when they finally do and trot back into the forest. She doesn't know how long she lies on the ground and stares at the sky, only that by the time the monster gives a strange snarl-groan the light has changed a bit. With shaky arms she pushes herself back up and stares at it.

It lets out a shuddering breath and begins dragging itself back towards the house. She squashes the tendril of pity before it can get into her heart, this _thing_ nearly attacked her she will not feel sorry for it.

A few moments later she decides it's high time she leaves. This time when she tries to stand her legs cooperate, thought they're slightly shaky. She moves to pull the instructions she found out of her pocket and has a small start of surprise that she still has the hydrangea that started this whole mess in her hand. Deciding it's not worth it anymore she tosses it aside and pulls the instructions out.

And without a backwards glance goes to the front door and starts counting steps. But when she reaches the edge of the clearing at step 294 the wolves are there, snapping and snarling at _her_. She takes a few steps back and they stop.

Behind her the monster gives a basso laugh. “You picked from the garden, you're stuck here same as the rest of us.”

She whirls on him. . .it! She whirls on it. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

It's leaning against the house now, still breathing ragged thought there seem to be fewer wounds then before. Despite it's wounds blood-red eyes are sparking in amusement. “I never kid. You either break the curse or you turn into one of them.” It gestures at the wolves patrolling the line between clearing and wood.

She crosses her arms and glares. “I'm dying arn't I, and this is just some weird-ass fever dream? That's the only solution that makes sense because _none of this is fucking possible_.”

The monster winces at her shout. “No need to scream, little red. I assure you this is very much real, I'd pinch you to demonstrate but I'd rather not be mauled again today.”

Her eyes narrow. “So what, you're not supposed to touch me?”

It tries to smile, but there are too many teeth in its mouth to be truly convincing and it's black skin pinches and twists. “You'll be a part of their pack soon, they protect their own. Such a shame too, you're quite lovely.”

She doesn't know if she should be pleased or disgusted that a monster is trying to flirt with her. She gives him her saccharine smile. “Down boy. I already have a boyfriend. So say I do believe all this crazy nonsense about breaking a curse, how long do I have?”

More wounds have vanished and she watches it pull itself up, standing it towers over her; and she's oh so glad it's wearing what looks like very ragged pants. “At the very least a week. It depends how long you can resist the transformation spell.”

Lydia opens her mouth to make a snappy comment about how she's Lydia Martin and she can do fucking anything if she puts her mind to it, but her stomach rumbles demanding more food.

He raises an eyebrow, and she's amazed she can actually tell that's what he's doing. “You didn't eat?”

The saccharine smile returns with a vengeance. “Of course not. Delicious looking food, suddenly waiting for me? Thanks, but I've seen that horror movie. I'll pass on the death or drugged torture.”

“I can't touch you, and the wolves won't harm you unless you try to leave, and you being dead would defeat the purpose of you breaking the curse.” A clawed finger points at the front door. “Eat.”

She tilts her chin up a little. “Or what?”

It snarls. “Or you won't be fed anything else!” This time the smile is evil and perfectly fits the monster. “I hear starvation's a fairly horrible way to die.”

The noise of rage she makes isn't pretty or pleasant by any stretch of either word, but it's what he gets as she storms back into the house. At the very least he won't be there.

Back in the kitchen the food is still warm, even thought it's been at least two hours since she first saw it. She grabs the empty plate and angrily begins piling food on it. Part of her wants to go out on the porch and eat in front of the monster, but the rest of her points out this is a horrible idea. Instead she retreats to. . .her bedroom. . .for the time being.

There's a little table and chair set that definitely weren't there when she woke up, but right now she's not going to look _anything_ in the mouth. She moves the seat so she can look out the window at the garden and starts eating.

Her meal is spent in blissful silence.

It's waiting for her when she comes down the stairs. She breezes past it and into the kitchen where she starts washing her dishes.

“You don't have to do that. The house takes care of everything.”

She ignores him in favor of rinsing off the soap and putting her plate and silverware in the drying rack. She brushes past him again again on her way out to explore the rest of the house. It trails after her. “That's the den,” it says as she peers into a room with inviting overstuffed furniture, a cabinet full of games and liquor bottles, and an ancient looking radio.

“Living room,” when she glances into the room she bathed in last night. The tub is gone though, replaced by a few small seating areas. He doesn't bother to speak as she zooms past the kitchen. Then there's the “dining room”, and “study”.

On the second floor there arn't as many bedrooms as she's thought last night. But there is a bathroom, with the missing copper tub. At the far end of the hall there's a brightly painted room cluttered with toys. “Nursery,” he whispers. She quickly closes the door and moves on.

The third floor brings with it the “library”, “master bedroom”, “stair to the attic”, and “conservatory”. Though she had no idea why they'd have that _and_ a garden.

Her whirlwind tour of the technically condemned Hale house done she makes herself comfortable in the library. If she only has a week to live, she might as well do something interesting. Somehow the monster manages to squeeze through the door and makes itself comfortable by the now-lit fireplace, fur side facing her.

She eyes it warily as she begins reading the book she'd found on Richard Feynman.

A few hours later she looks up again; this time to see a tableful of food, and it's like seeing it triggers her nose because her next inhale is flooded with delicious scents; and the monster staring at her. She glares right back as she sets her book down. “What?”

He shrugs, “just trying to figure you out.”

She ignores the implications and starts eating. The monster seems unconcerned by her silence and continues on. “Not a single question. Don't you want to know my name? Or anything that could help you break this curse and escape?”

“Why should I care what your name is? You're just a monster.”

He laughs. “There are worse things to be than a monster, little red. And I'm Peter.”

She ignores the fact that she should give it her name now and just continues eating.

-

It’s there when she comes down for breakfast the next morning. It speaks while she piles food on her plate. “Beatrice.”

She gives him a sharp look. “What?”

“Your name, is it Beatrice?”

She gives and exasperated sigh. “I'm not re-enacting the _Rumpelstiltskin_ name game.”

He smiles, “then tell me your name.”

The only answer she gives him is taking her plate and going back up to her room.

-

For the rest of the day he keeps turning up when she least expects it with a new name. She doesn't know if it's endearing or frustrating.

-

She awakes in the kitchen, a half-eaten raw steak in her hands. As hard as she can she flings it away from her; it hits the far wall with a disgustingly wet ‘squelch’ and she shudders as she turns the sink as hot as it can go. She lets out a small hiss as the water comes in contact with her hands.

Peter finds her still washing her hands a few minutes later. With a snarl he turns the water off and takes her too-pink hand in his. “What happened?”

Lydia narrows her eyes and yanks her hands away. “I could ask you the same thing. I woke up a few minutes ago eating a raw steak.” She wrinkles her nose in disgust; the worst part is that she doesn’t even feel sick.

He seems unconcerned by her pulling away. “It’s happening faster than the last time.”

“What is?”

It bares its teeth in anger. “The curse, little red. The one you’ve been content to ignore, as if that would make it go away.”

“Well how do I break this ‘curse’ then? Because turning into a wolf isn’t exactly in my five year plan.”

His eyes flash red. “This isn’t a game you impertinent chit!”

He grabs her and claws dig through skin as easily as fabric. She screams. She can just barely hear the sound of glass shattering. A moment later the wolves charge into the kitchen and tear Peter away.

Running on adrenalin she scrambles away, though unable to look away from the wolves decimation. The one with amber eyes pulls away and trots over to her. With an already bloody muzzle it noses at her wounds before starting to lick them. The slightly rough tongue makes her jump in surprise, though not as much as what happens a few moments later.

Between one moment and the next the wolf becomes a woman, one who looks as surprised as Lydia feels. Amber eyes widen in realization and the woman. . .barks. . .The other two wolves look up from their gruesome work, and nearly bowl Lydia over seconds later. They too lick at her wounds, and soon also turned back into people: an angry looking man and a blonde woman.

Angry and Amber eyes are hugging moments later, apparently not caring that nither of them were clothed. When they break apart they turn as one to the blonde, who'd surreptitiously been making her way towards the front door. Angry finally breaks the silence. “You.”

Blonde smiles and stands up. “Aw, don't be like that Derek. You can't say you didn't have fun.”

Derek snarls and lungs at the blonde. Amber eyes quickly follows, but not before shooting Lydia an apologetic look; leaving her alone with Peter.

Peter's gasping, wheezing breaths quickly fill the room and she winces a little at each one. Uncertain she makes her way over to him kneeling down at his head. She frowns at his closed eyes. “Peter?”

Eventually his eyes half open. “What happened?”

With her left hand she starts gathering blood from the wounds on her right. “I made a blood sacrifice, chanted the whole of Revelations, and had sex; all combined apparently fixed the wolves.

He gives a weak chuckle. While his mouth is still open she slowly slides her fingers in. “Lick.”

His eyes close and Lydia thinks she might be too late. Then his, surprisingly human, tongue brushes against her fingers.

'I'm Lydia by the way.”

Peter's eyes open completely in surprise and she bites back a smile. Certain her fingers are clean now she pulls them out and wipes them off on her skirt. He returns her smile with a weak one of his own. “I never would have. . .”

His body bows and he snarls in pain. She watches as fur recedes and burns smooth out, but only a little, and pinken. With a final gasping breath he's human.

The house shivers and shifts, suddenly she finds herself not on a sturdy floor, but one that's starting to buckle and give. Quickly she stands up and tries to get herself and Peter into the, hopefully much sturdier, hall. She only half-succeeds: He's really heavy and she isn't exactly known for her upper body strength. But the floor he's on now isn't groaning in protest, so she'll count it as a win.

Triumphant howling soon starts filling the air. It makes her and Peter both twitch, though she's certain it's for completely different reasons. Amber eyes is back before the howling even dies down. She kneels across from Lydia and looks at Peter. “Uncle Pete?”

All she gets in reply is a labored breath. Amber eyes' eyes narrow and Lydia watches as she puts both hands on his shoulder, Lydia's own eyes widen in surprise as Amber eyes' veins start turning _black_. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to help him heal. Otherwise he'll do something stupid like die. I'm Laura.”

“Lydia,” she manages to reply in between bouts of chocked laughter.

The front door swings open and Derek steps in before rushing to Laura's side. “What happened?”

Laura frowns. “I'm not sure.”

Lydia blinks in confusion. “You attacked him.” both look at her in shock. “He hurt me,” she gestures to her still bleeding arms. “And you attacked him for it.”

The two of them share a look that holds a whole conversation. It breaks when Derek walks over to her and offers her a hand up. Lydia looks at it for a moment before taking it. He leads her out the front door. “Where are we going?”

He gives her a look. “The hospital, your wounds need to be looked at.”

An hysterical giggle escapes her, and he gives her another look, one that clearly states 'this isn't funny'. “I think you should get some clothes first.”

Derek looks down as if realizing just now that he's naked; not that _Lydia's_ going to complain. “Oh.”

-

It had been two weeks, _two weeks!_ , and she hadn't seen hide nor hair of the Hales since Derek dropped her off at the hospital. Her popularity had soared, though not in a necessarily good way, and Jackson had apologized profusely when he'd seen her again. She has scars now, surprisingly small furrows in her biceps, a permanent reminder that those three days really happened. Her father offers to pay for cosmetic surgery, but she knows it's only so he can get back at her mother and she declines.

She'd at least like to know they were alright.

Which is why, once again, she's walking through the woods; though this time she's better prepared for the cold and possible rain.

It takes her a while to find the Hale house again, when she does it's just as ruined as she left it. She walks right through the still open door. “Hello?”

No answer.

She wanders through what little of the house that can support her, though she can only get up to the second floor. The place is abandoned.

Lydia wonders where they went. The rumor mill hasn't been whispering about them, so they haven't been showing up in town. But she doesn’t think they'd've gone too far. Peter'd been badly hurt, and Derek and Laura only had themselves.

Frustration starts boiling up in her as she leaves the house and starts making her way back to her car. The next time she sees one of them she's going to yell them deaf.

-

While she hasn't really forgotten her escaped at the Hale house during the past year, it's been sidelined by things like graduating and starting college. 

When she comes home for spring break Beacon Hills hasn't changed that much. Jackson's still in high school, she broke up with him, though apparently Stiles's graduating soon, she's just glad he's not planning on following her to Harvard.

She doesn’t know if she's grateful or annoyed that her mother lets her do whatever she wants and doesn't insist on mother-daughter bonding time, Lydia didn't have to come back to Beacon Hills for the break, but she had because she still has that small kernel of hope that she might see a Hale.

Nothing of note happens during spring break except her eighteenth birthday.

-

Summer, and instead of heading 'home' Lydia goes to La Jolla, intent on finding herself a nice patch of sunny sand and possibly a cute boy-toy to take her mind off things.

Except her boy-toy turns out to be a vampire, how _Lost Boys_ is that?, and tries to kill her.

Tries because one moment he's got his fangs in her neck and the next he's no longer there, being batted about by and angry looking Peter. Lydia sits herself down and waits.

When boy-toy's, she thinks his name might have been James, or maybe Alex, nothing more than a pile of ash she gets up and goes over to Peter before he can disappear. Without preamble she slaps him.

She watches him shake it off like a dog and he rolls his eyes. “Hello to you to Lydia.”

Now that she's gotten a good look at him she's surprised to note all his scars are gone, leaving behind a devilishly handsome face. His eyes are a bright denim blue that seem to bore into her soul and leave something there. “The least you could have done was send a card.”

“Ah, _that's_ why you're angry.” He shrugs like it's nothing. “Take it up with my Alpha, dearie, not me.”

Lydia crosses her arms and narrows her eyes. “Oh yes, your 'Alpha' prevented you from writing a short note and sending it off in the mail. Try again.”

He sighs and offers her his arm. “May we argue somewhere else? I don't know about you but I'd rather not stay in this lair for longer than I'd have too.”

She considers it for longer that he's comfortable with, she does it mostly for that, before nodding and threading her hand around his arm. “If we go somewhere to eat you're paying.”

Peter snorts in amusement. “Of course.”

-

They end up in a hole-in-the-wall coffee shop, it might be a little grimy but their pastries are delicious. Danish suitably demolished she takes a sip of her chai and slumps back a little into her chair. “So, a whole year?”

Peter drinks from his own coffee, no sugar and a disturbing amount of cream, before leaning forward a little. “Laura and Derek managed to stabilize me enough that we could get to their mother's pack up in Oregon. But during the ensuing trip my wounds forced me to slip into a coma. I only just woke up in March.”

Lydia raises an eyebrow. “That still gives you four months in which you could have contacted me in some way.”

“Except I couldn't since I didn't know anything except your first name and while Beacon Hills is small enough that I'm sure you're the only Lydia, I don't think the town would appreciate me asking after a teenage girl.”

She mentally concedes he has a point, though a bit of anger still lingers. “Well if you plan on sticking around this time you've got a lot to make up for.” She gestures at her barely noticeable scars. “Least of all these.”

Peter winces, then tries to cover it up bu taking a big gulp of his coffee, which only half-works because some of it goes down his esophagus causing him to start coughing. Lydia laughs.

The glare he gives her when he's recovered is half-hearted at best. “So glad I amuse you.”

Her only response is to take a delicate drink from her chai.


End file.
